


Captured

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Lazer Team (2015)
Genre: Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:42:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: After a training exercise goes wrong and Lazer Team are split up and captured, Zach and Woody have to work together to save the others.





	Captured

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'captured' on the Lazer Team weekly challenge! <3

So Zach figured that after, you know, saving the entire planet, DETIA would send them off to space to fight even more aliens. And along the way they’d work out the kinks in their teamwork and turn into some sort of Avengers-like squad (or guardians of the galaxy, more like), defenders of Earth, supreme space force, and they’d get sent off in the Millennium Falcon or some shit.

Like _immediately_.

Except it turns out that sending people to space requires a lot of preparation. Like getting the spacecraft ready (they’ve been adapting the alien tech from the pod the suit came in to advance their own, or something, he isn’t quite sure but it’s taking a _fucking long time_ ) and training. Lots and _lots_ of training.

So he hasn’t shot up any aliens since that one time, and there’ve been no Avengers-style missions yet, just a lot of simulations. The simulations are fine, though, they’re fun if you pretend.

He just always figured the first big danger would come from, like. The Klingons, or… Jabba the Hutt, or some shit, whatever the fuck else aliens are out there.

Not other humans.

 

* * *

 

They’re in Siberia.

Or Russia, or… somewhere up there, look, Zach dropped geography as soon as he was able to. He doesn’t know where the fuck anywhere else is. In Europe somewhere, that’s for sure, but not the fun part of Europe where it’s all beaches and attractive people with foreign accents lounging around in short-shorts. Somewhere that’s cold and shitty and has, like, Christmas trees everywhere.

What are they doing here, you ask?

Fuck if Zach knows. He wasn’t paying attention when Emory told them what they were meant to be doing. He thinks it’s meant to be a test run of some sort? Like DETIA hid something in the woods they’re meant to go find or some shit as a teamwork exercise, and there were gonna be simulated enemies.

Except these people after them are not actually simulated enemies. As he realised very quickly when they legit full shot Hagan in the leg with some sort of tranquiliser dart and then went after the rest of them screaming in Serbian. Or German. Or whatever the fuck language they speak in whatever the fuck country they’re in.

And it’s possible the rest of them kind of split up in the forest, which was admittedly not their best idea, but look, they panicked, okay?

And now it’s like, snowing and getting dark and Zach’s wandering through the forest of Christmas trees unsure what the fuck to do.

Fantastic.

Totes not scared though. This is way more exciting than anything else they’ve done so far. Besides, he’s got his gun. He’ll shoot a bitch.

He’s just _annoyed_ , because he’s kind of lost. Everything looks the same. But he’s wandering around - _on the prowl_ , you might say - ready to fire at the first sign of movement, waiting to stumble upon the enemies’ campsite. He knows he will, eventually, because he’s awesome and the hero and it always works out for the hero in the end.

So yep. That’s the plan, and he’s pretty confident things will just turn out his way.

At least until there’s a flare of pain in his shoulder, and his head starts spinning, and he barely has time to twist around and see the tranquiliser dart buried in there before he thinks, _oh. Fuck_. And the sky and the ground tilt all the wrong way up and the next thing he knows he’s out like a fucking light.

Well, that’s just not _fair_.

 

* * *

 

Zach wakes up slowly, his head aching and groggy and feeling like it’s stuffed full with cotton wool. At first, all he’s aware of is the ground under his back - hard and _cold_ , real fucking cold - and harsh voices behind him. At first he thinks he’s still dreaming, because they sound like they’re speaking gibberish, but as he comes back to himself he realises it’s actually some foreign language.

He takes a moment, breathing slowly and getting his bearings. He’s lying on the ground with his hands behind his back - tied up, he realises, strong synthetic rope binding his wrists tightly together. There’s some sort of bag tied over his gun. He’s on snowy ground in the forest, and it’s nearly dark - there’s only the faintest glimmer of sunlight left - and there’s a dull ache in the back of his skull and his shoulder where the dart hit, but aside from that, he seems unharmed.

Well then.

The first thing he tries to do, naturally, is fire his laser. What problem can you not shoot your way out of, after all?

It just feels like a bag tied over his arm. The laser should’ve gone right through it. Instead there’s a muffled blasting noise and barely a flash of light, and the bag ripples with the energy of the blast, but stays intact.

Well, fuck. Whatever weird material this bag is made out of, it has to be specially designed to withstand the laser gun.

He sits up with difficulty, feeling suddenly rather helpless now that his only weapon isn’t working and his hands are tied. It’s freezing out here as the sun sets, and even in his insulated suit he’s shivering. They’re in a clearing, he realises as he looks around, several black trucks forming a ring around the space. There’s a campfire in the middle, and some men huddled around it.

The sound of the blast has alerted them that he’s awake, and one of them rises and walks over to him. It’s a middle-aged, balding guy with a cruel face and pale eyes. He’s wearing a black turtleneck, a fashion choice which makes Zach immediately realise he’s _obviously_ some sort of villain - but there’s an unfamiliar logo on his leather jacket, too. Clearly part of some nefarious organisation then.

The man sneers down at him and spits a string of unintelligible words in French, or perhaps Austrian.

“Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” Zach replies, eloquently. “Who the hell are you guys, anyway?”

He has no idea if the man can understand English, because he just tilts his head, says something else in Hungarian (?), and then laughs and spits at Zach before turning and walking back to the campfire.

Wow. Unsanitary much?

Rather annoyed, he starts struggling again, trying to loosen the ropes around his arms, only to pause when there’s something of a commotion nearby. Someone else is arriving, he realises - the other men and women around the campfire have stood up, turning to see who it is.

More figures dressed in black leather with the same strange logo are walking into the clearing. The others relax as they realise it’s more of their own people - and Zach stiffens as he notices one of them is carrying a figure in a familiar suit over his shoulder.

_Fuck. They didn’t just get Hagan. Looks like the others got got as well._

The group start babbling away to one another, and as they get closer Zach recognises Woody. He’s lying quite limp, his wrists bound behind him just like Zach’s, slung easily across one man’s back. After a moment, the guy comes over and callously throws him down onto the ground beside Zach before turning to join the others at the fire.

“Woody,” Zach hisses, turning towards him and nudging him with his boot where he’s sprawled on the ground.

Woody lets out a groan. He seems dazed and confused, but not completely unconscious, and Zach figures he probably just woke up. He continues to poke him with his foot, trying to roll him onto his back.

“Stop kicking me!” Woody mumbles finally. Zach can barely understand him between his slurred words and that ridiculous accent.

“Wake the fuck up, dude, we need to make a cunning plan.”

“Give me a bloody second. I just got tranquilised.”

“So did I, and you don’t hear me bitching about it.” Still, Zach takes a little pity and instead leans down and nudges Woody with his shoulder, trying to help him to sit up. It’s hard when both of them have their hands tied, but finally Woody rolls onto his back and manages to get upright. His head’s hanging down like his neck is too weak to hold up the weight of the helmet, and after a moment he slumps against Zach’s side.

Zach freezes a bit awkwardly; he’s not really one to get all touchy-feely with people outside of general hugs and tackling with his football team (and, you know, the hordes of adoring ladies that he is constantly surrounded by, yes, that is definitely a thing that happens). But Woody still seems half-asleep, and his body pressed against Zach’s is at least somewhat warmer than their frozen surroundings, so after a moment he sighs and relaxes, leaning against the other man to hold him up.

“You good?” he asks finally, and feels Woody nod, his helmet bumping awkwardly against Zach’s shoulder.

“Getting there. The mixture they gave us should wear off completely in about twenty minutes. Until then we may experience lethargy, headaches, blurred vision and slight nausea.”

“Your helmet’s still working?” Zach demands. “‘cause my laser gun sure isn’t. Some weird bag they put over it’s blocking it.”

“Yes, my helmet’s still functioning. I guess they thought it’s not much of a threat without the rest of the pieces of the suit to use it with,” Woody replies with a frown.

“Can it fucking google translate whatever language they’re speaking? Who are these guys? Also, can you track the others?”

“One _second_. I can’t do three things at once,” Woody says. It’s unusual to hear him grumpy, and Zach’s surprised enough that he falls silent and lets him take a moment to focus, his eyes flicking back and forth as he stares at whatever the hell’s going on on the other side of his helmet’s display.

“I can’t track the others,” Woody says, finally. Normally the helmet can locate where the other pieces of the suit are. “I think it’s these bag things stopping me. It can’t even sense yours and you’re right next to me.”

“God damn it.”

“As for these people…” Woody looks over at them, standing in a circle around the campfire, having a rather heated conversation. “They seem to be part of some sort of underground, criminal paramilitary organisation. They’re talking about how they want to get us back to their base… oooooh, that isn’t good.”

“What’s not good?” Zach demands.

“They want the suits for their own plans for world domination, I think,” Woody replies. Zach nods sagely along, because world domination is a perfectly reasonable thing to go for, he supposes. “They want to find a way to take them off us and put them on their own people. Which basically involves killing us, but first they want to run tests. Sounds like they’ve got Herman and Hagan too, somewhere else in the forest. They have a base up in the mountains they want to take us to, but I think the snow’s going to make it hard. That’s what they’re arguing about.”

“Wait, so who actually are these guys?” Zach asks, still slightly lost. “They’re human?”

Woody thinks for a moment, and Zach has the sneaking suspicion he’s trying to find a simple way to explain it.

“I guess you could say they’re the Hydra to DETIA’s S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Woody says finally, and Zach stares at him.

“I have no fucking idea what that means.”

Woody blinks at him with big, startled eyes.

“Marvel?” he squawks, indignantly. “The Avengers?”

“Oh! That shit. Yeah, not really into that. I’m not a _nerd._ ”

Woody splutters and makes a variety of high pitched squeaking noises while Zach watches patiently. He’s never really seen the other man get so enthused about something, he registers vaguely.

“It’s not nerdy!” he cries finally. “It’s _popular culture_ , everyone should know it!”

“Not me,” Zach replies, distractedly. “Yo, what are they saying now? They’re pointing at us.”

Woody snaps back to attention, but before he can answer, the men are striding over - Baldy and several others, carrying guns that Zach’s pretty sure don’t just have tranquiliser darts in them. They stare down at the two of them, lying on the ground - Zach sneers back up at them, but after a moment Baldy - who seems to be in charge - looks at Woody and says something, seeming to realise he can understand.

“What’s he saying?” Zach demands. “He talking shit about me?”

Woody’s staring up at the man with wide eyes. Personally if Zach was the one with the Helmet-Of-Google-Translate, he’d be taking the chance to let the guy know exactly what he thinks of his subpar fashion choices and receding hairline, but Woody just sits there listening.

"They think you’re our leader,” he says finally. “Because of our name and how you have the laser gun.”

“Fuck yeah I’m the leader!” Zach yells, and puffs his chest out. “Tell him I’m gonna kill him. Tell him the laser gun is gonna disintegrate him and soon he’ll be nothing but _dust_. Tell him there won’t be any of him left and then probably a pigeon will eat him or something!”

“Pigeons don’t eat dust,” Woody replies, distractedly, only to pause when Baldy’s eyes fix on Zach and he spits another string of guttural words. “Oh. He understands English. He says that your threats don’t mean anything and that… we Americans shouldn’t have come here. That DETIA doesn’t know what they’re messing with!”

“Yeah, well where were these guys when the aliens showed up?” Zach shoots back, getting rather fired up now, feeling a bit like this is the start of a match and he’s trying to psyche out the enemy team. Baldy’s squinty evil eyes turn to him, and Zach bares his teeth. “Yeah, buddy, where were you? Who killed the Worg? Was it you, huh, Mr Baldy? Didn’t see you anywhere, were you hiding safely over here in… where the fuck are we? Australia?”

Woody’s staring at him incredulously.

“That’s not even in _Europe_ ,” he replies, but Zach ignores him.

“That’s right, Tough Guy,” he continues. “Not so tough when the aliens come, are you? Huh? _Huh_?” The guy’s sneering at him now, lips drawn back, and Zach laughs. “What are you making that fucking face for? God, your teeth are disgusting. Ever heard of floss?”

The man looks distinctly unimpressed, but Zach leans back against the cold, snowy ground.

“ _You_ don’t know who you’re messing with,” he scoffs. “We’ve saved the whole fucking world, including you sorry lot. We aren’t scared of you.”

Baldy just stares at him, his face very blank. Zach figures he’s trying to scare him, like those teachers at school who thought they could intimidate him with the silent treatment, like a dirty look is gonna make him cooperate. But then Baldy steps forward and reaches out-

And it’s _Woody_ who he grabs by the front of his suit. Woody gives a rather startled squeak, but it breaks off as Baldy lifts him easily up, clear off the ground - and then punches him hard in the stomach, two quick vicious strikes that knock the breath right out of him.

Zach’s stomach drops. For the first time he’s shocked into silence, something uneasy and almost scared building up in his chest. He doesn’t like seeing someone _else_ hurt, he realises - and there’s something cruel and deliberate in Baldy’s actions, something that makes him realise this is a very dangerous man. It’s especially disconcerting seeing it come from another _human -_ no glowing eyes, no scales or tail, nothing to distance this from what they themselves are.

Finally, he gets his voice back.

“Hey!” he shouts, something angry in it, now. He starts to struggle to his feet, but the other men point guns at him and he falls still. “How about you pick on someone your own fucking size, huh? You think you look tough? He’s tiny, he doesn’t even know how to fight. Ha ha ha, look at Mister Man over here, thinks he’s such a badass-”

He breaks off when Baldy looks him in the eyes again. What’s scariest is that the guy doesn’t look angry. Just frighteningly devoid of emotion as he hits Woody again, striking a punching wheeze out of him before he throws him on the ground next to Zach. Woody’s helmet bangs against Zach’s knee hard enough to hurt, but Zach barely notices as Baldy leans down and stares him straight in the eyes.

“You talk too much,” he says, voice soft and laced with a thick accent.

Zach stares at him, then pulls a horrible face.

“Bite me,” he spits back, only to gasp as the man grabs him by the throat and lifts _him_ off the ground next, pulling him right up until their faces are so close that their noses nearly touch. Yikes. He’s even grosser up close - there’s a wart on the side of his nose, and he smells strongly of cigarettes, that particular bitter tang that leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and his fingers are digging into Zach’s throat so that he can barely breathe, so hard he _knows_ it’ll bruise.

He can only stare, nearly cross-eyed from how close they are. Baldy stares back at him, and snarls something else that Zach can’t understand. His throat hurts, and with his hands tied behind his back he can’t hit the guy, but he gathers his strength and kicks him hard in the stomach.

It’s like kicking a fucking brick wall. The guy’s abs are like, rock-solid. Zach is briefly impressed, until Baldy squeezes his hand so tightly he cuts Zach’s air off before throwing him to the ground and striding back to the fire, the others in tow.

Zach coughs and gasps. His throat is burning and he feels a bit lightheaded.

Well this took a turn! Suddenly he’s not feeling quite as confident - but angrier than ever, especially when Woody, who’s managed to sit up, bumps their knees together.

“Zach, are you okay?” he whispers.

“Fine,” Zach croaks. His voice sounds like he’s just given someone a ten hour blowjob. Fucking hell. “What the fuck did he just say to me?”

Woody hesitates, and Zach turns to look at him. Behind the helmet he can see that Woody’s face is strained with pain. He looks scared, too, and Zach hopes his own unease isn’t showing. The last thing they need is both of them freaking out.

“He said that they’ve looked us up. Who we were before we got the suit, where we all came from. They researched us,” Woody replies, voice soft. “And he said that you can talk a big talk but he doesn’t have to worry because he knows that we’re the two stupidest ones.”

“Wow,” is all Zach manages to say. “Rude!”

Woody looks away. Zach thinks about it for a minute.

“Technically not _untrue_ ,” he muses. “But still rude.”

Woody doesn’t even laugh. He’s just sitting there all quiet, and after a moment Zach looks over at him. The concern that shoots through his chest startles even himself as he notices how Woody’s hunched over, nursing his ribs.

“You alright?” he asks, gruffly. It helps that his voice is still so hoarse. “He break anything?”

He never really thought he’d care that much. After all, they’re all grown men, they can take care of themselves. And they’ve done a lot of training together, but Zach probably still wouldn’t call any of them _friends_ \- not like his team are, or Mindy is. Not someone he’s close to and seeks out when he doesn’t have to.

But Woody’s not like the rest of them. He’s little and fragile looking and not used to getting knocked around. Like sure, hit Zach, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s used to getting tackled in football. But Woody spends most fights hiding behind Hagan or Zach, and he kinda looks like he’ll be swept away by the next strong breeze, and Zach might be a jock but he’s never been a _bully_ , never been the sort to pick on someone smaller than him just because he _can_.

He’s not sure when he started to feel almost protective - of Woody or _any_ of the others, he hadn’t felt good about leaving Hagan behind earlier today when he got shot, even if he hadn’t let himself dwell on it at the time.

All he knows is that he’s always cared about his _team_ , whichever team that might be referring to. And he doesn’t like people hitting his friends. Gotta stick together and all that.

Woody glances over at him. Whatever look’s on Zach’s face, it makes him give a small smile.

“I’ll be alright,” he replies. “I’m monitoring my own vitals and nothing’s too badly damaged.”

“He’s a dickwad,” Zach mutters. “I’m still planning on killing him.”

“How?” Woody asks. “Your laser’s blocked.”

“You’re the smart one, come up with a plan,” Zach replies. Maybe rather complacently, but that’s what Woody always _seems_ to do - pull some new function for the suit out of nowhere, see some pattern or possibility in their environment that no one else noticed.

Woody’s quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he looks up.

“Hagan gave me a knife,” he whispers. “He was worried if we all got split up I’d have nothing to defend myself with.”

“So he thought you _stabbing_ someone was a good idea?” Zach demands, rather incredulously; he’s having trouble imagining clumsy, gawkish Woody wielding any sort of weapon. Woody just shrugs.

“Apparently! It’s still in my boot. They didn’t think to search me. That bag might be able to block the laser, but maybe a good old-fashioned blade can get through it - or at least cut the ropes. The problem is, with our hands behind our backs it’ll be hard.”

“Get it out and we’ll sit back to back,” Zach suggests. “Apparently that preserves warmth or some shit. They’ll think we’re just cold.”

Woody stares at him, and Zach shifts, feeling defensive and unsure why.

“What?”

“How’d you know that?” Woody asks.

Zach just shrugs.

“I did a lot of camping as a kid,” he replies. “Come on, let’s do this. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

They shift around so that Woody’s behind him, closer to the edge of the clearing, while Zach keeps a close watch on the men around the fire. They’re still talking to each other, and don’t seem too bothered, only occasionally glancing over at their prisoners.

Woody’s rocking back and forth as he tries to reach inside his own shoe - no small feat with his hands tied. But before long he manages to get the knife out, and soon Zach can feel him sawing away at the ropes and bag around his wrists. It’s clumsy work - he drops the knife a few times, and at one point accidentally stabs Zach’s arm - not too deep, but hard enough to draw blood.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zach hisses, nearly biting his tongue as he tries to stifle his yell of pain.

“Oh my God,” Woody says. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“Jesus Christ, be _careful_!”

“I’m sorry! I’ve never done this before!”

There’s something pitiful and frantic in his voice, and Zach remembers suddenly how it was his own inability to shut his fucking mouth that got Woody beaten up before. They’re both freezing cold and in pain and it’s hard to move tied up. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s fine. Just be careful.”

There’s blood running down his arm, making everything slippery and sticky, which really doesn’t help. But after a little more struggling, he feels the ropes around his wrists fall loose, and gives a little hiss of triumph, grinning as he glances over at the men and finds them none the wiser.

“Good job,” he whispers, and looks over his shoulder just in time to catch Woody’s smile.

His automatic instinct as he shakes the bag off his laser gun is to jump up and shoot everyone. But he forces himself to slow down, and turn and pick up the knife and cut Woody’s ropes, too. It only takes him a minute, since he can actually see what he’s fucking doing, and the next thing he knows, they’re both free.

“Great!” Woody whispers, flexing his hands. He’s grinning, but his eyes are wide and nervous. Zach’s own heart is pounding, but with his gun back, his confidence has returned, and he’s ready to wreak havoc on these guys. “Let’s sneak out!”

“Like hell I’m sneaking out, I’m gonna fucking kill them all!”

He turns back, but Woody grabs his arm.  
  
“Set your gun to stun,” he suggests. Zach gives him an unimpressed look, but Woody just stares back, intently. “You think you can kill a human?”

 _Already have_ , Zach thinks, remembering the doctor back when DETIA were trying to cut the bits of the suit off them. He didn’t dwell on it much at the time. The lines between good and bad, hero and villain, have always been very clear in his mind. He doesn’t like to get all philosophical and guilty about it. But he hesitates at the look on Woody’s face.

They’ve killed a bunch of aliens, and people possessed by aliens, but he supposes this is quite different.

“They’re evil,” he begins, defensively, but Woody shakes his head.

“Just for now,” he whispers. “DETIA can deal with them. The stun setting will knock them out for hours. Let’s sneak away first. There’s too many of them and they have guns.”

He pulls at Zach again. Zach looks down at the other man’s hand on his arm, and sighs. He supposes the smart one of the team would know best, and he nods. Woody smiles, and Zach follows him out of the clearing as they slip away into the forest.

 

* * *

 

It’s so dark they can barely see as they push their way through the trees. Woody’s helmet has night vision, as well as a headlamp, but still - everything in the forest looks the same, just endless snow and trees. Zach has no idea where they’re going, just trusts that Woody is leading the way as they stumble along, their boots crunching in the snow, every footprint immediately covered again by the falling flakes.

Woody can’t move very fast. Apparently his ribs got more fucked up than he mentioned earlier, and before long Zach has an arm around his waist, supporting half his weight and pulling him along. He doesn’t mind too much - it’s freezing out here, colder than it ever gets in Ruby Lakes, and being pressed close against someone else is at least a bit warmer.

Finally they emerge from the trees onto a road - little more than a winding dirt track through the forest. Zach turns to Woody to comment, but notices headlights coming towards them, and yanks at his arm.

“Truck! Truck!” he hisses.

Woody makes a rather alarmed squawking sound, like a duck whose tail’s been stepped on. Zach grabs him and they throw themselves down behind the bushes by the side of the road as the truck speeds past, making the ground rumble under them. Woody landed half on top of Zach and they both grunt, tangled together for a moment before Woody sits up and rubs his side, staring after the truck, one hand going up to the side of his helmet as he focuses.

“Is it them?” Zach asks.

“Yes, it’s the same group of people,” Woody says. “Let’s follow it - we need to find the others and contact DETIA. Then we can get out of here.”

Zach picks himself up off the ground. Everything aches by now and he’s more than ready to get the fuck out of the Christmas forest of doom and go back home, but he’s excited at the thought of finally getting to swoop in and rescue the others. They push on, hurrying after the truck - the bad weather and shitty roads means it can’t travel that fast, so they mostly just have to be careful to keep to the shadows.

“That was clever,” Woody says abruptly, after they’ve been travelling in silence for some time. Zach gives him a confused look, and Woody elaborates, “That back-to-back thing. You’re right, it’s true, I just looked it up.” Because of course he has 4G internet in his helmet even out here in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. “I’ve never been camping before. So I didn’t know that.”

“It’s pretty fun,” Zach says, and looks over at him. “But I guess you never really seemed like the camping sort. Like, before all this.”

He never paid much attention to Woody. He knows he used to go around with Herman a lot - drinking, or loitering, or causing trouble in the fields around town. He’s never quite understood their relationship, never bothered to ask. But beyond that, Woody’s just always existed in the background to him, smiling and silent and just ambling around confused about what’s going on. Zach’s never really imagined him properly _doing_ anything - like going camping, or watching a movie, or coming to a party to get drunk and start fights and okay, maybe Zach’s party experiences are a _little_ different to most other people’s, but still.

“Did you go to school camp?” he asks, suddenly seized with curiosity by the thought of Woody doing, you know. Normal people things.

“No,” Woody replies. “I didn’t want to go. No one wanted me in their cabin, anyway.”

“Oh,” Zach says, a bit taken aback. Maybe once he’d’ve had some sort of snide comment, but now he suddenly feels bad, even if he had nothing to do with it.

Woody just shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, just matter-of-fact. Like it makes perfect sense.

It’s weird to think about, suddenly - that they went to the same school, and remember the same things. The same teachers, the same students, the same assemblies, the same dramas. Woody was in the year above him, and Zach repeated another year even after he finished, but still.

It’s a familiarity he never quite realised was there, in this sudden world of militaries and aliens and space that they’ve fallen into. Of course, he’s seen Hagan and Herman around town too, and knows them - but they’re so much older that it barely counts.

“I’m glad I’m out of school now, anyway,” he mutters. “It kinda sucked. Football was fun, but that’s all.”

“Did you ever graduate?” Woody asks.

“No,” Zach scoffs. “I became a hero who saved the whole world. You don’t need school for that.”

“You should still try and graduate if you can,” Woody insists, and Zach pulls a face.

“Why? Did you?” he asks, too close to a sneer - Woody looks away, and Zach feels bad, suddenly. There was something snippy in how he said it. Maybe he felt a bit attacked, maybe he didn’t want the fucking reminder that he’s never been that good in class - not that he ever cared - but he wonders, sometimes, what all this must feel like for Woody. He underwent the most drastic change, after all.

Sometimes when Zach glances over at him, he still sees that idiot he used to be - someone invisible, someone who only really got in the way - other times he sees Woody as… a computer or a dictionary, he supposes. Still not really a _person_. Just a source of information they cart around with them and call on when they need to.

It’s a shitty way of thinking, and he feels a bit bad about it now. It’s a rather foreign feeling for him, _guilt_ , and he doesn’t like it.

“Anyway, we’re rich now! They paid us so much for saving the world,” he declares, wanting to change the subject. “Who needs school, am I right? Look at you, Mister Super Genius, and none of _that_ came from school.”

He nudges Woody’s side, realises he forgot about his injured ribs, and then feels bad all over again when the other man winces. Woody just shrugs. His voice is soft when he replies.

“No school,” he says, “Just this magic helmet.”

“Yeah, but the helmet wouldn’t do shit if you weren’t operating it and looking stuff up and working things out, right? Like, you actually have to _use_ it. It’s like a computer, isn’t it?”

To be honest, he has no fucking idea how the helmet works - he’s just assuming it’s not as simple as the answers magically appearing in front of Woody whenever he needs them. But Woody looks thoughtful, then - and then glances over at Zach and nods, and gives a smile that’s so genuinely sweet that Zach can’t help grinning back. It’s nice to see him happy.

“I like this,” Woody says, suddenly. “How it is now, what we do here. I always liked space and superheroes. Comics and movies and all that.” He gives a slightly embarrassed smile. “I was never much good at reading actual books. But I liked TV and pictures and stuff. It would’ve been nice to go into astronomy or something, but of course I was too thick to be able to get into that. But now I know more about space than I ever thought I would. Now I actually _understand_ it. It’s… cool, I don’t know.”

Zach finds himself nodding encouragingly. And look, normally he wouldn’t really care about _any_ of this - he’ll readily admit that maybe he’s a bit self-obsessed sometimes - hearing the geeky guy ramble on about his interests and life story isn’t something he’d usually even pretend to pay attention to. Now he finds himself hanging on every word, happy just to hear Woody _talking_ about something - he’s usually so quiet when he’s not giving them the information they need - he isn’t sure why, but it’s the same feeling he gets with Mindy when she starts going on about something he has no clue about. He likes just to listen to her voice, to how excited she gets.

“But I still like all the fictional stuff,” Woody continues. “Because, like… this helmet gives me access to a lot of things I didn’t have before. Not just information but being able to actually process it, to put the pieces together and know how it all works. But sometimes I almost miss not quite knowing, that… simple awe, I suppose.”

He breaks off, looking self conscious as he realises he was rambling - but Zach grins, and nudges him more gently this time.

“Well, there are aliens out there, apparently!” he says. “And I’m sure once DETIA send us off to boldly go or what fucking ever, we’ll find plenty of new stuff to blow your mind.”

Woody laughs. He has a nice laugh - squeaky and giggly, like a little kid, and Zach realises he’s grinning too and feels self-conscious suddenly, like he does around Mindy, wondering if he’s coming on too hard, looking too desperate, giving himself away. But he shakes it off as the truck begins to slow down and he realises they’re about to arrive.

They have a job to do.

 

* * *

 

The campsite where the truck’s stopped is on high alert. There are men and women with guns stationed all around it, keeping a close lookout. It’s not their main base, but it seems like more of a permanent arrangement than the place where they were before - big floodlights keeping the place brightly lit up, and tents set up to keep the snow out.

They crouch in the bushes on the most shadowy side of the compound, and Woody scans for life forms with his helmet.

“There’s the other two!” he hisses. “In that tent, over there - the age and height and weight matches. They’re alone, but there’s a guard outside. Other than that, there’s a dozen guards, most of them on the perimeter, a few around. Seems like they’re waiting for the weather to clear before taking them up to the mountain base.”

“So what’s the plan?” Zach asks, scanning the area - it’s hard to see in the dark.

“Take out the guards?” Woody suggests, rather feebly. “I don’t-”

“Take out the tree,” Zach cuts in, as his eyes fall on an enormous pine tree at one corner of the camp. It’s so tall that he can’t even see the top of it, and if it fell at a particular angle it’d take out not only one truck but most of the guards standing in a line along the edge of the campsite.

Woody follows his gaze, and his eyes light up.

“Good idea!” he says. “Let me just calculate the angle and trajectory…”

Zach has no idea what the fuck that means, or what he’s doing, but his job is just to pull the trigger, so he waits patiently as Woody does his thing. Finally, the other man nobs, and absently reaches out and puts his hand on Zach’s shoulder. His fingers are cold, but there’s something familiar to how they settle against the side of his neck. Nowadays Zach can aim well enough on his own, after all the training they’ve been doing, but Woody still helps him when they need something complicated or precise.

“Fire,” Woody whispers, and Zach pulls the trigger on the laser.

A blast of light shoots out - bigger than usual - and hits the tree close to the base, slicing clean through it. It sways, then begins to topple with a horrible groaning noise. The guards look up and begin to yell, scrambling to get away, but they’re too slow and a moment later the enormous trunk comes crashing down on them. It crushes the truck, too, and a moment later the fuel tank explodes in a massive burst of flame that sends a wave of heat over the two of them as they duck and cover their faces.

Zach recovers quickly. He can hear shouting and screaming from inside the camp, followed by a rattle of gunfire in their general direction. There’s no time to waste.

“In, in!” he hisses, and shoves Woody towards a gap where the tree fell.

Normally they’re both quite nimble, but with their injuries it’s hard to move quickly, even with the urgency and adrenaline pumping through them. Zach ends up grabbing Woody’s hand - it’s easier to keep hold of him like that, he tells himself - and they run together. The physical contact means Woody can help him aim, and with his helmet’s functions he can see through the smoke and the swirling snow to lock onto every enemy around the camp and have Zach shoot them precisely before they even notice they’re here.

They have the element of surprise, and in the darkness and chaos, with Woody guiding the shots they make quick work of everyone in the camp. Soon they’re standing in the ruins of the tents and trucks and supply crates, staring around as the smoke dies down around them. It’s oddly silent here, in the cold and falling snow with everyone lying unconscious.

“Is that all of them?” Zach asks. His voice is hoarse from the smoke he’s accidentally breathed in and that bald asshole choking him before.

Woody looks over at him, seeming concerned. Zach realises suddenly that they’re still holding hands - their fingers, tangled together, feel warm and sticky from a combination of sweat and the blood from the wound where Woody accidentally cut him earlier when trying to saw through the ropes. Woody realises at the same time, and they let go of each other quickly, awkwardly.

“That’s all of them,” Woody replies, softly. “The others are in that tent.”

He points, and they hurry in, bursting into one of the few tents left standing to find Hagan and Herman sitting there, hands tied behind their backs. They look confused, straining to see what’s going on - but both of them slump in relief when they realise it’s their teammates.

“About damn time,” Hagan begins, and Zach pulls a horrible face at him.

“I like that! You guys even got a tent!” he complains loudly. “We were just left sitting on our asses in the snow!”

“See? I told you they were coming,” Herman cuts in, turning to Hagan and laughing in his face. “This guy’s got no chill. He couldn’t stop complaining and freaking out the whole time about how we were both gonna die, and he didn’t deserve to go this way-”

“That was _you_ freaking out,” Hagan replies, furiously. “It was literally _him_ complaining about all those things.”

Zach can only roll his eyes.

“Did you even _try_ to escape?” he asks, but he realises he’s smiling. Well, he’s allowed to be glad they’re okay. It’d be a pain to have to find new teammates, and knowing DETIA they’d pick two of the least fun people to join the team if they had the chance to put anyone else in the suit.

Woody’s already busying himself cutting the others free. As soon as Hagan gets loose, he turns and grips Woody’s arm.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Whoever these guys are, they didn’t seem like they were playing around. We were worried when you two didn’t show up.”

Woody looks surprised. Then he nods, smiling, and pats Hagan on the shoulder before moving to cut Herman loose.

Herman’s sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looks ridiculous with two bags tied over his feet, like he’s about to compete in a three-legged race.

“That dart they shot got me right in the ass and it’s still numb,” he’s complaining, as Woody works at the ropes. “Also, why the fuck did DETIA send us in here when it’s so dangerous? Hell of a place for a training exercise with these freaks everywhere.”

Woody pauses.

“You’re right,” he says, slowly. “The probability that DETIA had no idea these people were here and just randomly selected this exact location for a training exercise is extremely low. Maybe they secretly wanted us to deal with this organisation for them? Or see how we fared against them?”

“How sneaky of them,” Zach mutters, but honestly, it seems like the sort of thing DETIA _would_ do.

Hagan’s frowning.

“Point is, we did deal with them,” he says - ha! _We_! Zach likes that, when he and Woody did all the work - “I’ll ask Emory about it later. One of the men here took my comm. If I go to find him I’ll call DETIA and they can come and extract us, and do whatever the fuck they need to with these people.”

“Solid plan,” Zach says, but Hagan’s barely listening. The adults, it seems, have taken over again as soon as they’re free - Hagan already striding out of the room, Herman taking a cigarette from his pocket and leaving as soon as he can as well.

Zach’s left standing in the tent with Woody. He’s reluctant to move now that they’re finally indoors and out of the snow and wind. Woody’s toying with the knife, looking thoughtful, and Zach knows he’s thinking about DETIA and what just happened. He himself is not bothered to worry about it, not just yet. He just wants to go home and shower and eat and let someone else deal with it - when it’s time to shoot something, then he’ll pay attention.

Still. He doesn’t like how unsettled Woody looks, and he reaches out and jostles his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says - Woody looks at him, and Zach tilts his head. “Sorry about getting you beaten up before.”

“It’s okay,” Woody begins.

“No, you shouldn’t let people get away with stuff like that. It was my big mouth that pissed that guy off.”

“You wouldn’t be _you_ without your big mouth. I don’t mind, Zach, really.” Woody smiles again - almost shyly - before looking away once more. There’s something funny about how he’s acting, but Zach doesn’t dwell on it.

“But hey,” he continues, brightly, “We did good today! Rescued the others, saved the day _as usual_ \- so I guess we’re not so stupid after all, huh?”

Woody’s face brightens at that.

“Nope!” he agrees, and Zach holds a hand up.

“High five?” he offers, and a ridiculously big grin splits Woody’s face as he slaps their hands together.

Zach can’t help but think that the other man might feel a bit left out sometimes. After all, even when their football team won games, they never cared much about the waterboy - never included him in the celebrations or anything. After they saved the world, Zach went off to party with Mindy and the others, and Herman went off to drink, and Hagan’s friends in the police force took him out somewhere, but Zach’s pretty sure that Woody just sat around the base debriefing with DETIA. He barely even noticed at the time.

But today - something changed, he thinks. He enjoyed working together, and seeing another side to Woody, realising he has more interests than just conveniently spouting information whenever they need it. And sometimes - sometimes Zach feels almost stupid around him, like he can’t possibly compete with the encyclopedia/calculator/supercomputer that is Woody’s brain nowadays. But it’s fine, it’s not like that, he realises now. There’s other things Woody doesn’t know about. Like camping or parties or social things.

Now there’s stuff he’s curious about the other man - about the things he used to do before the suit, about exactly how much he’s changed now - he _wants_ to work together now, is almost excited to. It’s strange, because Zach’s never been the one to have to chase after someone else before, to want to be their friend - never had to put in the effort.

And he can tell Woody’s surprised too, because the way he’s looking at him now is funny and tentative and shy, the same way a lot of people at school used to look at Zach - scared to approach someone so confident and popular. Zach used to just ignore them, barely caring. Now he doesn’t tease like he might once have. He just slings an arm around Woody’s shoulders and hugs him closer for a moment, laughing at the brief, surprised noise he makes.

“Come on then,” Zach says, “We’d better go make sure they’re not ruining all our hard work by letting those bad guys wake up and escape.”

“I’m pretty sure Herman’s just taking a smoke break,” Woody murmurs, and smiles when Zach laughs again, and then takes his hand to lead him to join the others outside.

**Author's Note:**

> [Join me writing Lazer Team fics each week! <3](http://whalehuntingboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/149931537439/lazer-team-weekly-prompt-challenge)


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